


This is a war between my body and tongue

by Romantic_Liar



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Not between them tho!!!), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Louis in Panties, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Panties, Pet Names, Public Sex, Rimming, Smut, Top Harry, Top Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romantic_Liar/pseuds/Romantic_Liar
Summary: "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"Louis doesn't even know himself, to be honest, and the speech he prepared during his almost sleepless night is nowhere to be found, brain deciding on his own accord that it wasn't needed anymore, no matter how hard he tries to remember.The silence is heavy, uncomfortable, so he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind."I want you."Coworkers AU where Louis and Harry hate each other, until they don't.





	This is a war between my body and tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mhysadracarys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhysadracarys/gifts).



> This one goes to my best friend, wife and partner in crime, because I promised her a birthday fic and I always keep my promises.  
> Happy birthday, babe! This one's all for you.  
> Took me ages to come up with something I liked (you know how I am), and I hope you'll be proud of this -of me- like I am.  
> All the love x
> 
> Special thanks to Barbara for helping me through the several mental breakdowns that came with trying to finish this damn thing on time.
> 
>  **Title credits:** My Head Is a Prison And Nobody Visits - You Me At Six
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't know any of the people mentioned and none of the events described in this story actually happened.
> 
> (I've read this several times to try and correct possiblr mistakes, but English is not my first language and this is completely unbetaed, so I'm sorry in advance if you find any.)
> 
> !! If I forgot to tag something, please let me know! It's 2am here and I'm not 100% focused. !!
> 
> ____

"You're one of _ those _ ," Louis starts, and the distaste is already evident in his voice, venom seething out with every word, "one of those people who enter cock first in a room, that think they're better than the rest of the world just because mommy pays for everything you ask for, like your fancy clothes and expensive car, while us peasants have to work hard to get what we want."

He walks up and down the room in slow, calculated strides in a pure power stance, authority radiating off him at every movement, features harsh but relaxed at the same time because he  _ knows _ he's gonna win this, no matter how much effort it takes, because he's Louis Tomlinson and he doesn't lose. Ever. 

"I saw it last night, how you like being in control. You had that guy wrapped around your finger, probably took him home and told him to call you Sir, or Master, or even  _ Daddy _ ," he makes his voice small as he says the last word because he's a tease, too aware that it's gonna switch something in the tall, curly man in front of him, just like he's been wanting to.   
"He probably moaned all for you, begged and pleaded like a little slut. But what if I wanted to spice things up a bit, curls? Be the one to take you apart, watching you come undone under my hands and my tongue?" 

Harry cocks his hip slightly, right eyebrow raised in curiosity because he wants to know where this is going, and also because it's pretty fucking entertaining and slightly arousing, and he always loved a good challenge. 

"I want to hear you beg 'till your throat is sore and your voice is broken, want you to scream my name so loud the neighbours will file a complaint. Wanna bend you over your fancy mahogany desk and watch you take it, hard and fast and deep because I know that secretly you're just as much as a cockslut as the twinks you get in bed with you. Wanna mark you so good and watch the bruises blossom on your skin like roses during springtime, and hear you moan like the whore you are because it feels  _ so good _ you don't even know what to do with yourself."

Louis is close now, too close, and he smells like expensive cologne and cigarettes and the fancy red wine he always drinks with his lunch. It's overwhelming, to say the least, how someone so significantly smaller than him is making Harry feel overpowered and on edge. 

"It's about time you give up control and let yourself  _ feel _ , Harold. Maybe an orgasm so hard you barely remember your name will be enough to wipe that smug smirk off your face."

Harry is affected like he never thought he would be but he can't let it show, can't let someone like Tomlinson see, so he discretely adjusts his half-hard dick in his Gucci dress pants and clears his throat for good measure before he speaks.

"You think you know everything, think your pretty face and designer Armani suit will get you everywhere, but you're dead wrong. They won't get you in my pants, darling, no matter how hard you try."

He takes one more step and their faces are just inches apart, breaths mixing together in the spaces in between.

"Plus, I don't think you could handle me, let alone make me beg. But believe me, I'd  _ love _ to see you try."

Louis doesn't seem taken aback by the answer, instead he's calm, lax even, as he stands so dangerously close and looks at Harry with wide, lust clouded, blue _ blue _ eyes.

"See, Harry," he puts a dainty hand on Harry's exposed skin, right where his black shirt is half unbuttoned and the butterfly tattoo shows a little, "I don't know what idea of me you've created in that curly little head of yours, but you should know by now that I don't lose. And I always, always get what I want."

With that, the delicate, warm touch is suddenly gone, and so is Louis. 

And Harry might be a tiny bit _ fucked _ .

°°°

"I fucking hate him, Niall. You should've seen'im, all smug and smirking like he owns the fucking world, washing his mouth 'bout bending me over and giving me the best orgasm of my life. Like he could _ reach _ my asshole without standing on a chair, that fucking midget."

Niall just laughs, bright and loud and slurred from the huge amount of alcohol he's been consuming. Harry would say his friend is fairly drunk, but he knows Niall would only answer with something along the lines of  _ 'Irish people don't get drunk, they just get funnier _ ', so he lets it slide. He continues his rant though, complete with wide hand gestures and frown etched in his forehead. 

"And I don't bottom."   
"You don't bottom  _ anymore _ , Harry. Just because your ex was a right prick, doesn't mean you should deny yourself the pleasure of havin' a dick up yo' ass." 

And well, not a lie, but not the point. 

"We've been working there for the same amount of time, hell, his office is even slightly bigger than mine! Why does he have to be so fucking annoying? Doesn't he already have anything he wants?" 

"Haz- mate, he's been pullin' ya pigtails since you started working in there."

"He's doing my  _ what _ ? Do we even speak the same language?" 

"He's pullin' ya pigtails, like the kids on the playground with the girlie they fancy. He's got a crush on ya!" 

Harry is positive Niall is drunk off his ass after this sentence, probably even a bit stoned, too, 'cause there's no way Louis ‘I'll annoy the shit out of you until you die’ Tomlinson has a crush on him.

"You're rambling, Ni. Shouldn't have had that last pint."

"No, mate, listen: he's said he wants to fuck you, right? And he's been pretty descriptive of what he wants to do to you, as well. Sounds to me like he's been thinking about gettin' in ya pants for a while now. I've seen him with these two eyes, ogling you like he wanted to  _ ravish _ you when we were at that club and you were dancing with that blonde guy. He  _ wants you _ , Haz. You're the only one who doesn't see it."

And well, that kind of makes sense.    
But why would someone as gorgeous as Louis (yes, he hates the guy, but he's not blind, that man is beautiful. With sharp cheekbones and long lashes and blue eyes and high, airy voice that gets all the blood in Harry's body rush through his cock) want someone he claims to hate when he can possibly have anyone in the world?

"I mean, he could have anyone he wants, why me? He hates me."

" _ Exactly!  _ He thinks he can't have you. You're a challenge to him, and he likes to win. It all adds up!"

"He won't win, though."

Niall just laughs again.

They spend the rest of the night talking about something else then, but Harry still can't wrap his mind around the implications of what Niall is suggesting. And if he wanks himself raw thinking of none other than Louis Tomlinson, then no one but himself has to know.

°°°

The first time it happens, it's a few weeks after the ' _ encounter _ ' with Louis at the club. 

Harry is sitting in his office, eating a banana because it's lunchtime and he's hungry and he likes fruit, thank you very much, when Louis walks in without even having the decency of knocking and positions himself on the chair on the other end of the desk, legs spread wide and palms open on his  _ (thick, gorgeous, edible) _ thighs as he looks at Harry with pure hunger in his eyes.

"Been watching you deepthroat that thing for a few minutes now, it's kind of driving me mad."

He's not subtle at all as he gives Harry a long once over, biting his lip in the process. 

"I'm eating this very normally, thank you very much." he gives a big bite to the banana for good measure, just to drive the point across that he doesn't want Louis anywhere near his office -or his dick-, then puts the almost empty peel aside, looking at Louis with a stare that's halfway between challenging and annoyed. "And stop watching me!"

"Kinda hard when your office has glass walls and it's right in front of mine."

Louis slides his chair closer then, and the rattling of the metal on the tiles is almost as annoying as the person who caused it.

"Wanna know what else is  _ hard _ , Styles?"

He makes a show of adjusting his dick then, small hand caressing the whole length in a very suggestive way that has Harry choking on his spit a little. He recovers very quickly though, because he's a grown man and he's totally not salivating -or getting hard, for that matter-at the sight of Louis' bulge tenting his fancy work pants. 

"For someone who likes to brag about how good they are in bed, you get hard embarrassingly quick, Tomlinson."

"Not fast with everything else, though. Could fuck you for  _ hours _ , make sure you feel all of it over and over 'till you're too sore to walk, begging me to let you come because you just can't take it anymore."

He's standing up now, just to go around the mahogany desk and perch his round bum on it, right in front of where Harry is sitting in his leather chair. 

"You do have a big mouth for someone so small."

"I'll show you my mouth alright, Harold."

Next thing he knows, Louis is on his knees, undoing Harry's belt and pants and pulling them under his ass together with the black Calvin Klein briefs, and taking his whole length in his mouth in one swift motion.

"Jesus-  _ fuck _ ."

And well, Louis is good. He bobs and licks and sucks in all the right places, focusing on the head a bit before going down, down, down 'till his nose his resting on Harry's skin and Harry's cock is lodged securely in the tight heat of his throat.

"Holy sh- fuck,  _ God _ ."

Louis looks at him through his long lashes, blue eyes looking even clearer now not that they're tearing slightly, pops off just enough to whisper "fuck, you're so wet," before he goes back to sucking and licking, pupils fully blown and skin flushed with arousal all the way to his chest. 

He works on that dick like his life depends on it, making delicious gagging noises every now and again and Harry is close, so close, but he grits his teeth and grips the armrests of the chair as tight as he can because he can't give Louis the satisfaction of making him come so fast.

He's able to tear himself off the edge and stay calm for a few more minutes, but then Louis moans around him and starts palming his balls with his right hand and playing with his hole with the left and well,  _ shit _ . The feeling is too much, white hot pleasure washing over him with the force of a tsunami and, before he knows it, he's is coming down Louis' throat with a growl and Louis swallows it all like a starved man with a full meal, licking his fingers for good measure after he's done.

"Come up here, wanna taste myself on your lips." 

Louis dick gives a twitch of interest at the request, but he has no intention of granting it. Kisses are something he doesn't share just with anyone. 

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? You literally had my dick down your throat not even three minutes ago, a kiss won't fucking hurt you." 

"I don't kiss if I don't  _ mean _ it, it's too-- too intimate."

He then proceeds to stand up, wipe his mouth on the back of his hand and leave Harry's office without so much as a second glance.

°°°

"You sucked his dick?"

"Yes, Zee. He was  _ deepthroating _ a banana, what else was I supposed to do? He was getting on my nerves!" 

Louis says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, the way everyone would have reacted in that situation. 

"I don't know, maybe have a civil conversation?

"You don't understand, Zayn, you can't have a civil conversation with someone like him! He's so fucking full of himself it's not even funny, with his fancy suits and expensive car, walking around like he's the boss-" 

"Kinda sounds like you're describing yourself, mate." 

Louis ignores his friend's comment in order to go on with his rant on how Harry fucking Styles is ruining his life in more ways than he can count.

"And he's always so _ polite _ to people, always saying 'please' and 'thank you', calling everyone pet names like he's the fucking pope or something. But I'm not gonna submit to him, never in a million years."

"So, let me get this straight," Zayn combs his hand through his dark hair, stifling a laugh, "you don't want to submit to him so.. You got on your knees and sucked his cock? Kinda defeats the purpose of the whole thing, if you ask me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"You wanted him to beg, but you sucked him off without even making him work for it."

" _ Fuck _ ."

°°°

The second time it happens, they're forced to cooperate on a job and they spend the whole time bickering over everything and anything.

"This is my office so the stapler stays right where it is, because _ I  _ said so."

"But it doesn't look good! You can't put a glittery, purple stapler in plain sight like that, not in a _ respectable _ office! it's-- it's ugly!" 

"It's fantastic, as every decent interior designer says, you absolute ignorant idiot!"

-

"Can't you write it in English? I still don't understand hieroglyphs."

"Fuck off, Styles, my handwriting is completely understandable. Not my fault you weren't taught how to read."

"This word, here, looks like ' _ vaginatown _ '! What the fuck does it mean?" 

"It's ' _ vegetarian _ ', you fucking caveman!"

-

"You are seriously thinking of smoking in my office?"

"Erm- yes?"

"No, no, no. No way I'll let you  _ corrupt _ my working space with that horrible stink."

"I opened the fucking window, the smoke goes out, you imbecile. I won't corrupt anything except your face with my fist if you don't stop."

"No, Louis. Go smoke on the balcony upstairs."

"You're such a fucking prick."

-

"It goes here, I'm telling you. Right before the first signature."

"No! There's the code, then the signature, then this one! It goes  _ after _ !"

"Absolutely not, Harry. Have you ever written an official document before?"

"Heaps. So I know I'm right."

"No. We're doing it my way."

"Or what, you gonna stomp your feet and cry?"

"Shut up."

"Mhm, Lou? You gonna pout for the rest of the day so that someone will take pity on you and buy you candy?"

"Don't call me that."

"Why? Does it turn you on,  _ Lou _ ? Does the way I say it make your cock hard? Is it some sort of weird kink?" 

"I said  _ shut. up. _ "

"Make me."

Louis just pushes two fingers in Harry's mouth because it's the first thing he can think of to shut him up. What he doesn't expect, is Harry sucking on them like a baby on a lollipop, sloppy and messy, eyes wide and so green and chin covered in spit. It's a bloody vision, that's what he is, because it should be impossible looking so dirty and so innocent at the same time, but somehow he does it, and it's driving Louis mad. 

"That what you wanted, huh? Just something in your mouth to keep you occupied?"

Harry just hums around his fingers and shuts his eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks and tongue working magic and he looks so blissed out and  _ happy  _ that Louis can't help but stare, cock stirring in his pants because no matter the amount of hate he has for him, Harry is gorgeous and is sucking on his fingers and well, Louis is only human, so.

It's a few minutes later that Harry emits a gurgling noise that sound suspiciously like a bunch of muffled words, so Louis takes his fingers out and murmurs "what?" with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, still unable to fully process what's going on.

"I said," Harry clears his throat and he sounds so fucked out already, voice hoarse and rough and _ low _ , "that I wanna suck your cock now."

He gets on his knees, gracefully despite his long legs, and his slender fingers work quickly on the buttons of Louis' pants, getting his cock out and taking a long look at it, admiring it like it's a work of art, the most beautiful painting he's ever seen in his life: it's curved towards Louis' stomach, flushed and pink and hard, and Harry is already imagining how good its weight will feel on his tongue, how satisfying it will be to have it in his mouth. 

"So hard for me," he wets his lips and kisses the head softly, reverently, "so fucking  _ pretty _ ."

His voice is a low rumble as he talks and Louis is pretty sure he could come just from that for how much he loves it, so much that he has to shake his head and force himself to remember that he hates when Harry Styles speaks, so this shouldn't be an exception. 

When Harry takes it in his mouth, it feels almost as good as it looks: it's sweet and musky and perfect, thickness stretching his mouth just enough to make his jaw uncomfortable just the way he likes it. He gets to work soon enough, sucking on the head and going lower with each bob, stroking with his hand what he can't fit in his mouth, reveling in the feeling of fullness he's been craving for a while. The noises Louis emits make everything better, melodic moans and high pitched keens that fill the otherwise silent space, echoing in the air.

When Louis dares to looks down, he wishes he didn't do it, because the scene in front of him is enough to make him tether extremely close to the edge: Harry's looking up at him through his lashes, much like he was doing earlier when he was sucking on Louis' fingers, his mouth is stretched and red, glistening with spit and precome and his pupils are so dilated that the green of his irises is almost impossible to see.

He works hard, sucking and kissing and drawing patterns with his tongue in a way that makes Louis writhe in the chair, and pops off just enough to croak out "want you to come on my face."

It doesn't take long for Louis to let go then, spilling warm on the flushed skin of Harry's face, those sharp cheekbones, that _ glorious _ mouth hanging open just for him. 

"Mhm, taste so good."

°°°

The third time, Louis was having a terrible,  _ terrible _ day: he's used to taking his sweet time to get ready in the morning, but his alarm decided to bail on him, leaving him with barely any time to shower and get dressed before he has to bolt out of the door, hair a mess and brain sticky with the remains of sleep, making him feel like everything is happening in slow motion.

When he gets to his garage the car won't start, so he's also, on top of everything, forced to take the tube to work, squished in a sea of people that smell bad and are sweaty and gross even though it's barely eight in the morning.

He gets off at the wrong stop, resulting in him having to walk for ten minutes to get to the building and, when he gets there, the fucking elevator doesn't work, so he's forced to climb flight after flight of stairs, arriving to his office sweaty and pissed off at everything and anything.

And then there's Harry. 

Fresh face and dimpled smile like he's having the best day of his life, and Louis can't stand him: he does anything in his power to get on Harry's nerves, including accidentally spilling coffee all over his very expensive boots, but today nothing seems to be enough to annoy him. 

"Why the fuck are you so fucking happy?" 

"I don't know, just am. You should try that sometimes." 

"You are an absolute prick and I hate you." 

Harry's smile still doesn't falter. If anything, it gets bigger,  _ dirtier _ . 

"Oh, Lou," he takes a few steps towards Louis and Louis just goes back, tries to keep the distance but finds himself caged against the desk instead, Harry's strong arms braced on each side of his body, "I know just the  _ right thing _ to make you happy."

"I don't need you or your poor attempts at sucking dick, Styles. Fuck off."

Harry chuckles as he gets closer, warm breath hitting Louis' skin as he speaks in in ear, "my  _ 'poor attempt' _ made you come so hard you could barely stand. And I was actually thinking of eating you out."

"Oh."

The perspective of having Harry's mouth on his ass is appealing, to say the least, because as much as Louis likes to give him shit about everything, he has to admit (not out loud, never out loud) that the boy has talent when it comes to giving pleasure to other people. 

"Well, come on then. Let's see if you eat ass better than you suck dick, I'm curious."

Louis finds himself naked from the waist down and bent over the desk in a matter of seconds -knocking over several pens in the process- with his pants pooling at his ankles. Harry is spreading him open with both hands, one on each cheek, and giving his hole kitten licks, teasing, making him squirm and push his hips back in his face in a silent plea for  _ more _ . 

Harry complies, licks and sucks with such passion, gently bites at the rim as if his life depends on making Louis fall apart. While one of Harry's hand keeps keeping Louis' cheeks spread, the other one flies to his hard dick, palming and squeezing in need of some friction, chasing his own release. 

It doesn't take long for them to come, Louis all over his hand and Harry in his fancy work pants, muffling his moans in Louis' skin as he rides out his high with the heel of his free hand working on his crotch.

"You came just from eating me out?"

Harry flushes all the way to his neck, embarrassed, and tries to stutter out an answer even though everything that comes to mind sounds lame as fuck. 

"I-- yeah. It's just.. I really-- like getting people off."

He's half expecting Louis to give him shit about it, to tease and mock him relentlessly for at least the time it takes for them to clean up, if not longer, but he doesn't. What he does is stare at him in awe, instead, face still flushed from his orgasm and mouth wide in shock.

"That's - that's so fucking  _ hot _ ."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't dwell on it though, your ego is already big enough."

°°°

It happens a fourth time, and a fifth, and then, after what is maybe the fifteenth, they both have lost count. Their encounters all blur into one another, edges fuzzy with white hot pleasure and with the annoyance that comes with their constant bickering, but they manage not to rip each other's throats out somehow, so there's that. 

It's always quick blowjobs in the office or grinding against each other in the bathroom till they both come in their pants, getting off in the backseat of one of their cars when they both stay at the office later than expected, or that odd time when they were sitting next to each other during an important meeting and Louis decided it was the best moment to jerk Harry off under the table and make him come undone in front of several pairs of oblivious eyes, face flushed and mouth bitten red to contain the moans, fingers gripping the wooden desk of the conference room tight and toes curling in his Gucci boots as he spilled all over Louis' fingers.

"That was-- _ fuck _ , Lou," the nickname has become a frequent occurrence when they're fooling around, despite Louis' initial protests, "I don't think I've ever come so hard in my life." 

His eyes are still wide and dreamy even now that the meeting has been over for a while, smile seemingly etched on his face forever. 

"You like the risk, don't you? Get off on the thought that people could find you in a compromising position, like with my hand wrapped 'round your cock, huh?" 

Harry hisses a desperate "yes" as he nods frantically, and by the time Louis is done with his dirty talk, they're both so hard they have to start all over again. 

It's not like they're a  _ thing _ or anything like that, except they kind of are: they know each other's rhythms and needs, know how to make the other unwind when they seem more tense than usual, all the buttons to push and ropes to pull to make them fall apart. 

They haven't labelled themselves, of course, there is probably no accurate term to describe two people who hate each other but get each other off anyway, but when Louis jokingly calls them  _ 'enemies with benefits' _ one night, Harry doesn't comment, just rolls his eyes and goes with it because it kind of makes sense, kind of fits.

It's an unspoken agreement -apparently the only thing they seem to agree on- that they won't talk after, just get dressed and leave the room without looking back, because it would only make things awkward and stupid. At it goes brilliantly, at first: they wind each other up by fighting (it's second nature to them, something they can't seem to get rid of) and then get off -no sex,  _ never _ sex- and leave without a word.

_ Until it's not _ .

They just gave each other's hand jobs in Harry's office after a bad fight about the compilation of some important forms. They readjust themselves in silence, as per usual, just the clinking of their belts and the occasional little background noise, but when Louis goes to leave, Harry stops him; big, soft hand wrapping around his wrist with a gentleness he didn't even know he had. 

"Do you want to-- erm.. Talk about it?" 

"No, Styles. I'm  _ fine _ ."

Louis is not fine. He just found out his mom has been diagnosed with cancer, but him and Harry are not friends, they don't talk about families and feelings and bad things (or good things, or things in general, for that matter), he has Zayn for that. 

"You're not, though. You're upset and you shouldn't bottle up your feelings like that, it's not healthy."

That catches Louis off guard like a slap in the face, and he feels more exposed now with his clothes on than he did ten minutes ago, when he didn't have anything on except for his open shirt and his mom's favourite ring on a necklace. 

"It's how it works, Harry. We fuck because we hate each other and we don't talk after, easy as that."

"That's all wrong, though."

Louis widens his eyes in shock because, well, he's never wrong, never has been since he can remember.

"First of all, we don't fuck, we get each other off. And I don't hate you."

" _ Yes you do _ ! That's why we do this!"

"I dislike you an awful lot and you annoy the living shit out of me every single day, but I don't hate you. And I'll listen, if you want to talk."

"You-- don't hate me?"

"Nope."

"Oh." 

This is something none of them saw coming, but while Harry has made peace with this fact, Louis can't seem to wrap his head around it. 

Not hating each other only complicates things, and none of them can afford that luxury. 

"Too bad, then. We can't fuc-- erm, fool around anymore, it wouldn't make sense if it's not mutual, y'know?"

"Okay."

Harry's voice is soft, like he's talking to a frightened animal and trying not to scare it further, and this brings another surge of rage to Louis' head 'cause it feels like pity, and he doesn't want pity, especially from someone like Styles. 

"Okay? Just like that? You're not even gonna put up a fight?"

"Why should I? It's just sex. I can find it elsewhere. With someone who's actually willing to  _ get fucked _ , instead of settling for half-assed blowies and dry handjobs at the office."

"Oh. Well, makes sense. Erm.. I guess I'll see you on Monday, then."

"See ya, Tomlinson."

°°°

The first week is easy. Louis is swamped with work, so he doesn't even have time to think about Harry and his sinful lips and gorgeous cock and low, sexy voice.

He keeps himself occupied, drowning in papers to sign and reviews to write in order to keep the thoughts about sex out of his head for a bit. It works most of the times, and when it doesn't, he blames it on the fact he got used to getting off regularly, so he doesn't have to feel too guilty about it.

They don't really  _ see _ each other around the office and when they do share the occasional elevator ride or coffee line, they awkwardly nod and go on with their day. 

Bickering and driving each other up the wall was way more satisfying than this _ thing _ , but none of them has the guts to go back to that, so they start avoiding each other after a while, just so they don't have to stand the uncomfortable silence that fills the air when two people share the same space and don't know how to make small talk.

The second week is a little harder. He hasn't had a decent orgasm since they stopped fooling around and he's tense, but at least he can still go on with his life without thinking about Harry more than necessary, so there's that.

He does think about him a bit when he masturbates, picturing him on his knees as he gets his throat fucked, but he tells himself it's just because it's easier to get off to a fresh memory instead of an older one. It's only partially false.

What he doesn't mention -to himself or anyone else- is that he's been dreaming of someone who  _ kinda, sorta _ reminds him of Harry, with broad shoulders and wild, curly hair and a gentle smile. He blames it on the lack of action in the sexual department, and dismisses it as quick as he can cause he's sure it will stop eventually. 

Except it doesn't.

The third week is  _ hell _ . He's horny and on edge and he can't stop fidgeting, he snaps at every single thing that doesn't go the way he wants and he can't focus on anything except how absolutely obscene Harry looks in that black Givenchy suit on the other side of the glass wall separating their working spaces, with the shirt unbuttoned halfway and his fucking tattoos exposed. 

He's stopped pretending he doesn't think about him a few days ago, but he still blames it on those primal instincts that every man has when he sees an appealing creature.

It gets progressively worse with each passing day and he's convinced himself he may need to see a shrink, after all, because there must be something wrong or out of place in his brain that needs to be fixed, and it has to be done  _ soon _ .

When on Thursday, during lunch break, he goes to his favourite restaurant to get a decent lunch and Harry is there, he's positive he's gonna feel sick. 

He spends the entirety of his free time staring, picking at his food without actually eating it, and feeling worse than he has in the past few weeks. Also trying to convince himself that this unpleasant feeling that settled in his gut has nothing to do with the handsome, tall dude with big brown eyes and perfect teeth that is sitting at the table with Harry and looks at him like he hung the fucking moon.

He decides to hang out with his best friend then, hoping that a night out and a few drinks (and maybe a cute guy to bring home) could take the edge off. 

He's managed to maintain an active conversation with Zayn up to the third beer, but then he started downing shots and his brain diverted his attention to Harry and the person that was with him at lunch, reviving the ugly feeling that was laying dormant in the pit of his stomach. 

"They were smiling and talking like a fucking  _ happy couple _ , you should have seen them! They were looking at each other with heart eyes and Harry would show his fucking dimples every two seconds and he even paid for their meal, how gross! Isn't that super gross, Zee?" 

"Oh my God, you  _ like _ him!" 

Louis doesn't like him, or miss him, or want him.    
He's not jealous or upset or anything of the sorts. 

"I-- no, I have no idea w-what you're talking about. That's-- the stupidest thing ever."

"You  _ so _ do! You're jealous he's moved on and you're angry because you miss him." 

"I miss  _ cock _ , Zayn, and he has a nice one. That's the only thing about him I can possibly miss." 

He doesn't sound too convincing, not even to his own ears, but it's whatever, really. 

"That's bullshit, though, because I  _ know _ you saw that guy checking you out for the past twenty minutes, and you didn't even look at him. Which, weird, cause he's exactly your type."

He's in a grey area between tipsy and drunk: too sober to forget, but not sober enough to make up decent excuses and it shows, because he stumbles over his words as he voices an answer. 

"No he's not! He's-- too short. And his eyes are brown. I hate brown eyes!"

"Dude, I have brown eyes."

He wishes he was at that point of inebriation where he doesn't care about anything, so he wouldn't have to feel so embarrassed about himself as he does right now. He's not, though. He regrets not drinking at least two more shots, but it's kinda useless to dwell on the past, so it's whatever.

He could lie a bit more, bad, transparent lies Zayn could easily see through but there's no point in prolonging the agony, and finding a solution to this problem sounds like a  _ brilliant _ thing right about now, so.

"What do I  _ do _ ?"

"You go there, flirt with him a bit, make him buy you a drink, bring him home, fuck hi-"

"Not with the dude, Zayn! With Harry!"

"What about him?"

"It's true. The--  _ thing _ . The thing you said earlier that I do- erm- about him." 

He combs his hand through his fringe like he always does when he's nervous, over and over, to the point that his hair is a weird, wild mess in a matter of seconds. "That I-- He-- you know."

"I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean."

Zayn's devious smile is stretched all across his face, that bastard.

"You know. Don't make me say it. It's already weird as it is!"

"The first step towards the solution is admitting the problem, so stop being a fucking child and say you like him." 

"No." 

"It's not that difficult! You like stuff all the time; dick, football, Netflix, hanging out with me."

"It's-- different. He's a person. I don't-- I don't do stuff like-- liking people. It's stupid."

"This thing you're doing, where you not so secretly obsess over him and pine like a fucking high school girl is even more stupid. So do both of us a favour and say it, you'll feel better. I promise."

"Fine! I  _ like  _ him!"

And well, Zayn was right, saying it out loud kind of makes him feel better, like he can finally breathe properly without that ugly weight on his lungs, so he keeps going. 

"I like him and his stupid curly hair and his damn frog face and bunny teeth and dimples. And his wonderful, amazing, perfect cock. And his mouth, God, his mouth! Not, like, what he does with it -I mean, that also, of course, but- like, the shape of it. It's pretty and pink and I like it. And his stupidly green eyes. And he smells nice and I like him because I'm an idiot."

"Good God, you're so gone for him it's not even funny, bro."

"First of all, don't call me  _ bro, _ it's ridiculous. And I'm not, like, super gone for him, he just has a lot of pretty things. Now that I've publicly humiliated myself by admitting this, can you please tell me what I need to do to get his lovely mouth wrapped 'round my dick again? Because he hasn't touched me in a month and I'm definitely gonna get locked up in a mental hospital if he doesn't do it soon."

"Just talk to him. Explain him how you feel and see how it goes?"

"Are you fucking insane? I'm not gonna go there with a bouquet in me hand to profess my undying love like some sort of chick flick cliché bullshit. Talking is stupid. I just wanna fuck him."

"Then stride into his office, tell him you wanna suck his dick and go back to how things were before you freaked out like a moron and called off your arrangement."

°°°

"Can I- can I come in?"

Louis is standing in the doorway of Harry's office, looking sleep deprived and tired and soft, and actually being polite for once. Harry is kind of scared this is the start of the apocalypse or something.

"Since when do you ask?"

"It's just," he ruffles his hair with his fingers and the strands end up as a mess of tiny waves on top of his head but he doesn't seem to mind too much, "it's weird now that we don't fight anymore, I don't know how to act around you."

He's still standing there as he speaks, shoulder resting against the wooden frame of the door. Harry is not sure how to answer that because it's true, it's kind of weird interacting in a different way than what they've always been used to, so he just silently gestures to Louis to get in the office already.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Louis doesn't even know himself, to be honest, and the speech he prepared during his almost sleepless night is nowhere to be found, brain deciding on his own accord that it wasn't needed anymore, no matter how hard he tries to remember. 

The silence is heavy, uncomfortable, so he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"I want you."

His eyes go wide as the words leave his mouth, he almost regrets saying anything in the first place, but then he raises his head and his eyes meet Harry's and  _ oh _ .

His irises are impossibly dark, lust clouded and hungry and feral like he's been waiting for this exact sentence this whole time and he's so gorgeous it's almost scary, with his jaw clenched and the ghost of a smirk grazing his face.

"Close the door, Louis."

Louis does so but he doesn't turn around, doesn't have the time to because Harry is behind him, pressed against his back, breath warm against his ear, "what do you need,  _ Lou _ ? Want me to suck you off, or you're finally realising how good you are at sucking cock, and you want your mouth stuffed full?"

And God, how Louis missed that voice.

He just whines low in his throat, doesn't know how to answer because he's in sensory overload and he wants it all, wants everything and then some just to make up for lost time: he wants Harry all over him, his mouth and hands and long hair tickling his skin, the cold metal of the rings he so obsessively likes to wear pushing against his body. 

"You gotta speak, Lou. Can't give you anything if you don't."

"Want you to fuck me."

Harry takes several steps back, shocked and confused because this is new. 

"You what?"

"Want you to fuck me, Harold, bend me over the desk and give it to me nice and good. You up for that?" 

"We never did that before." 

"There's always a first time."

"Yeah but-- you said you wanted  _ me _ to bottom."

Louis rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they're gonna get stuck in the back of his skull. 

"Jesus, you talk too much. I changed my mind, alright? I want to get fucked and you have a nice dick so I thought I'd ask you instead of going out and asking a stranger, but if you don't want I can still do that."

"No-- no. I  _ wanna _ . Just seemed weird, is all."

They undress in silence, and Harry actually chokes on his spit when he sees what Louis is wearing under his work pants. 

"Are those-" 

"Lace panties? Yes. Got a problem with that?" 

"God, no, absolutely not. They look amazing on you," they're light blue and they look obscene on Louis, hugging the curve of his ass perfectly, half hard dick straining the soft material in a way that can only be defined pornographic, tip almost poking out of the waistband. "I just-- never saw you wear those."

"I do, sometimes. They're soft and they make my ass look amazing."

It's a lie. 

Louis never wore lingerie before, he actually bought these panties -his very first pair- the day before, in hopes that Harry would agree to fuck him and be pleasantly surprised when he saw them. It worked, if the look in Harry's eyes is anything to go by, so he smiles softly to himself, brain rattling with all the possibilities of what's gonna happen next. 

"Can I-- can I touch them?" 

Harry's voice is soft as he speaks, like he doesn't want to go too far or break any invisible boundaries that Louis might have set, so different from the commanding, teasing tone he was using just a few minutes before. 

"Be my guest, Styles."

Harry closes the distance between them with two long strides, cupping Louis' ass with his massive hands and squeezing, hard.

"Jesus, Lou. They feel amazing.  _ You _ feel amazing."

His ass is round and firm and toned and everything a man could ever possibly want to see in his life. 

He gives a few more squeezes, kneading the skin, imprinting in the tips of his fingers every detail of Louis' skin and Louis whines in his arms, his whole weight resting on Harry as he lets himself be manhandled, revelling in the feeling of the cold rings through the fabric and kissing every inch of Harry's neck and collarbones he can get his mouth on. 

"Gonna give it to you so good, Lou. Gonna open you up nice and slow till you're begging for it and then I'm gonna pound into you so hard you'll see stars. What do you say, huh? You want that?"

This is as much talking as they've done during one of their encounters and Louis regrets shutting Harry's mouth every time now that he knows how good he is at dirty talk, how absolutely obscene his voice sounds while he speaks like _ this _ , all low and raspy making all the blood rush straight to Louis' dick. 

"Gonna make you scream so loud people will come see what's wrong. You like that? Want me to make you scream?" 

"Yes! Jesus--just fuck me already."

"Don't be a brat, love. Patience is a virtue."

"We're literally in a fucking office Harry, anyone could walk in so you better hurry up."

"Oh," Harry licks his lips, gets closer to Louis' ear and Louis can feel how hard he is, how his cock twitches as he speaks, "but you know I _ love _ that, Lou. Remember how hard I came in that conference room? I could barely keep quiet." 

He laughs, teasing, and he looks so young and so fucking good that Louis would probably agree to anything at this point. 

"And I know you do, too. You just can't wait for someone to walk in and see you bent over and begging for my cock, am I right?"

Louis just whines, high and broken and he wants to cry for how much he wants it. He's not used to being treated like this, he's usually the one in charge, the one who tops and calls the shots but he's been thinking about this for days now, and Harry's voice is so low and raspy it goes straight to his lower half.

Harry pulls his hair then, a sharp tug that sends a bolt of pain through the back of his scalp, "I asked you a question, love, be polite and answer."

Louis' face flushes in embarrassment when he realises he forgot what the question was.

"I-- I don't remember the question."

"Bad, _ bad Lou _ . I asked if it's true that you'd secretly like for someone to walk in and see you begging."

The words fly out of Louis' mouth before he can stop them, "yes, yes."

If two weeks ago you told Louis Tomlinson he would've been so pliant in someone's arms, he would've laughed right in your face. But now, with Harry all over him, talking to him like that, touching him like he's the most gorgeous thing he's ever laid hands on, he honestly thinks he's been missing out in the past.

"Good kitten. Now do me a favour and take those lovely panties off, put them on the desk where I can see them."

He does as he's told, tries to put on a show as he removes the last piece of clothing but his knees are weak with arousal, so instead of sexy, he kind of looks like a clumsy fawn taking his first steps. Harry seems to appreciate anyway, palming his now hard dick through his briefs and letting out an animalistic growl as he watches with pure hunger in his eyes and then going behind the desk, rummaging through the drawers till he finds lube and a condom. 

"You keep lube in your office?" 

"Been keeping it here since, like, after a month we started messing around."

"Very cocky of you."

"It paid off in the end, didn't it? Now drop the attitude and bend over the desk for me, gonna take care of you."

Harry reaches for his fingers, wanting to take off the rings, but Louis stops him, "don't. Don't take them off, wanna feel 'em." and Harry just nods dumbly, brain clouded with lust as he watches the beauty in front of him getting into position on the desk. 

The wood is cold against Louis' bare skin so he flinches slightly as he rests his upper half on the desk, shivers for a second before he gets used to the situation; it's uncomfortable, but he still pushes his ass in the air a bit more to give Harry a full view. It's hard to stay still, anticipation making him shudder as he feels the world around him melt into nothing but  _ wantwantwant _ , time dragging impossibly slow as he waits, whining a bit more when he realises Harry is not moving, not doing anything to take care of him like he promised.

"Stop whining."

"But-"

"Louis," his tone is low, cold, admonishing "I wanted to open you up with my tongue and my fingers, but I don't think you deserve that." 

He takes a few steps back, admiring the sight in front of him and squeezing the base of his cock before continuing, "you're gonna have to do all the work." 

"N-no, no, please  _ please _ I'm-- I'm gonna behave."

"You were being impatient and stubborn, I don't like that, so your own fingers are all you'll get. Naughty kittens don't get treats, Louis."

"Please I'll be good, I-- good, very good, promise, p-please, God, _ please _ ." 

He's so fucked, reduced to a babbling, begging mess without even having to be touched, and he would be embarrassed if the prospect of Harry's pink, plump, sinful mouth on his ass wasn't so appealing.

"I don't believe you," Louis lets out a tiny sob, "but maybe, if you prove you can be good, you'll have my mouth some other time."

Louis just nods as best as he can, then murmurs a low "okay," more to himself than anyone else. He wants to sigh, show how annoyed he is to be denied something like that but he keeps all of that to himself, wanting to prove Harry just how good he can behave. 

"Open up yourself. Put up a good show, yeah? Get yourself all loose and wet for me." 

It's not ideal, both for the weird position he's in and the fact that he wanted Harry to do it but he gets to work anyway as soon as Harry hands him the lube, reaching behind himself and circling his rim a couple of times before pushing in. He goes slow at first, careful not to hurt himself, but as soon as he's two fingers in he starts looking for his prostate, wanting to feel good, fingers curling and twisting inside his velvety walls and body shaking as he finds it. 

"Look so good. Tell me how it feels, love" 

"It feels--ah! amazing. Tight and-- fuck, warm. Feels so good." 

He works himself up to three fingers, pumping them fast and hard inside, turning his wrist just right even though the uncomfortable position is making his arm tired. He goes on for several more minutes, purposefully avoiding his spot this time because he really doesn't want to come before having a cock up his ass. 

"Can't wait to feel you around me, love, all tight and warm."

The sound of the condom wrapper tearing open and Harry's wet hand slicking up his cock are music to Louis' ears so he takes his fingers out, whining from the loss, wiping them up as best as he can on the naked, heated skin of his thigh. 

"You ready for my cock, Lou? Do you want it?" Louis just nods, but Harry is not having any of it. 

"Use your words, love, or you won't get a single thing. I want to hear you beg." 

"Please, please fuck me, Harry. Give it to me _ hard _ , so hard I can feel you when I walk tomorrow. Please, God, need it so bad. I-- fuck, get into me."

Despite the slight discomfort, the feeling of Harry slowly breaching into him, hands on his hips, caressing the skin, makes Louis' head spin, everything happening too fast and in slow motion at the same time.

Harry is halfway in when he asks "you okay, Lou? Tell me if it's too much.", punctuating his concerned words with a light squeeze of Louis' right hip, the metal of the rings around his fingers pushing in his skin just so, making him shiver just the tiniest bit. 

"Fine, 'm fine. Keep goin'"

It takes a bit for him to bottom out, going painfully slow despite Louis' tight heat around him driving him almost insane for how good it feels; he stills then, teeth gritted with the effort of stopping himself from pounding into the boy beneath him, beads of sweat forming on his hairline.

"Gonna stay like this for a minute, give you time to adjust, yeah?"

"I-- yeah. Thank you."

When Louis' broken voice tells him he can finally move, Harry is about ready to cry with happiness. He starts with slow, shallow thrusts of his hips, letting Louis' muscles get used to the movement, then starts going a bit faster, a bit harder, a bit deeper with each push of his hips, changing his angle as he moves in hopes to find Louis' spot and make it good for him, too.

When he catches his prostate with the tip of his cock, Louis arches his back, clenching around Harry tight, and moaning a "God, there," that sounds so good it would make the best pornstars blush, hands looking for something to grip to ground himself, but only finding a flat surface: Harry fills him up so good, making him hurt just the right amount, sending him in a frenzy, making him feel all kinds of dizzy and high, and he swears he can see sparkles before his eyes as he gets mercilessly pounded into. The slap of Harry's hips on his ass and the broken grunts coming from both of them are the only sounds filling up the air in the room, like everything else around them has momentarily disappeared. 

"You feel so good. So tight for me, Lou, so perfect." 

Curses spill from their mouths every time something feels especially good, their bellies feeling warm with arousal, orgasm building up with every thrust. Harry is in a daze, eyes fixed on his cock sliding in and out quickly, Louis' hole swallowing it with ease like it's meant to be filled by that and nothing else. 

Louis' skin is glistening with a veil of sweat and he looks divine and sinful at the same time, voice shot as he moans and ass jiggling with every slap of Harry's hips: he feels in heaven, pleasure making him curl his toes and arch his back, hips pushing back against Harry to get him deeper, needing just a little more to finally get over the edge. 

"Please, please, Harry, f-fuck, please,"

"What do you need?"

"Just, God--  _ wanna come _ ."

"Can you wait for me, love? Gonna come deep inside you and then take care of you?"

"Yes, yeah, just-- be quick."

"I'm almost there, promise. Just a bit longer."

It just takes four or five more thrusts for Harry to spill inside the condom, slowing down his torturous pace as he rides out his high, hands squeezing Louis hips so hard they're definitely gonna bruise as the waves of pleasure wash over him. 

When he's done he feels weightless, legs like jelly and arms weak but he holds himself upright anyway, ties up the condom and throws it in the general direction of the bin.

"Turn around for me, Lou. Gonna make you come now."

He falls to his knees as best as he can in the blissed state he's in right now, and takes Louis in his mouth effortlessly, sucking a bit before popping off and whispering "fuck my face, use me to get off," and resting his bum on his heels, mouth stretched open, waiting for Louis to get to work.

Louis wraps both hands in Harry's curls, tight, and pushes him on his cock repeatedly, hips thrusting forward, shuddering in blinding pleasure every time Harry swallows around him, the muscles of his throat creating a beautiful friction that pushes him closer, closer, closer. 

It only takes a couple more minutes before Louis is spilling down Harry's throat, hands still fisted tight in Harry's curls to keep him in place as he rides his orgasm. 

"That was-- fuck, Harry." 

"Good?"

"Yeah, very good."

"I just-- you sure you enjoyed it? I didn't push you too far, did I? Oh jesus was I your first?"

Louis chuckles as he pulls on his pants, heart doing a weird flip in his chest at every concerned question Harry asks him, and he kind of wants to kiss him, snog the living daylights out of him, so much he has to force himself to remember the rule: no kisses without meaning.

"No, you didn't take my anal virginity, I had someone before. Just-- not in a long time. And no, you didn't push me too far, I loved it, Haz," he flinches a bit as the nickname pushes past his lips, "it was mind blowing and I really appreciated the way you took care of me. Even the-- the dominant part. I'm-" he sighs, smooths some crinkles in his light blue shirt, "I'm glad it was you."

"I'm glad you trusted me enough, despite our... past. I just- can I ask you why, though? Since you prefer to top and all."

Louis internally screams at the question, mostly because the truthful answer would only make a mess (you don't just go around telling your coworker that you used to hate but also used to fuck ' _ yeah I never bottom but I missed you and I don't know how to deal with feelings so I let you fuck me instead’ _ , yeah, no.) so he settles for "dunno, just felt like I had to give bottoming another chance."

They keep getting dressed in silence, both feeling sated and feather light, before Louis' brain starts going places, inevitably remembering the guy having lunch with Harry just a few days ago. 

"Did you-- did I make you cheat?" 

"What?"

"I saw you with-" his hands are suddenly sweaty, and he doesn't know why he's so nervous all of a sudden, "with a guy, at lunch."

"I-- what? No!" he laughs, bright like the sun, hand slapping his own knee in amusement, "that's Liam, one of my best friends."

"You seemed... close. The way he looked at you and all."

"Yeah, we get that a lot, but we're just-- we're not a thing. We grew up together and we know each other very well. We do love each other dearly, but not-- not like that." 

He takes a second then, not sure of what to say next. 

"Haven't seen anyone seriously in a while," he adds as an afterthought, and he's not even sure why he thinks Louis should be aware of this, but now it's out there so he can't really take it back now, can he? 

"Oh, good. I-- me too. The dating thing. Haven't dated anyone in a couple of years, not since--" he sighs, leaving the sentence hanging. 

'not since my last boyfriend broke up with me and shattered my heart', he wants to say, but that's not appropriate post coital talk, so he keeps it to himself.

°°°

After that first time, it keeps happening: they fuck any time they have the chance, anywhere they can, months passing in a whirlwind of orgasms and sweaty bodies clinging to each other. 

Louis rides Harry in his office, on the fancy leather chair with his head thrown back and the palms of his hands resting on Harry's tones chest and Harry's hands holding his butt as he meets him halfway; they do it in the bathroom stall, with Harry holding him up with his strong arms and fucking him into the door until Louis is screaming in pleasure and coming untouched between them, they christen the broom closet as well, fucking in the dark with Louis' face pressed against the metal of the door as Harry pounds into him from behind, tight space forcing them close in a way that should be uncomfortable, but feels intimate and lovely instead.

They mark each other's skin where only them can see it, hips and thighs and pecs bruised and bitten, backs scratched to the point where the angry red, raised lines of their nails stuck on their bodies for days, itching and burning as they move like a painful reminder of how good this whole thing feels. 

It's all raw and primal, animalistic instinct taking over as they claw at each other's clothes, hips moving fast and lips bitten red to keep quiet, it's the loud snap of skin on skin as they chase the pleasure, arms braced against the wall to keep from falling when they finally get there and their bodies lose all sense of space and balance.

Somewhere along the way, Harry gives in and offers to bottom, and Louis thinks it could definitely go in the list of the best - and scariest- days of his life. 

"You what?" 

"I-- I've been thinking about it for a while and-- you gave me the chance to take care of you and.. I wanna do the same." 

He's restless as he speaks, fidgeting, playing with his fingers and his rings and carding his hands through his hair too many times for it to be anything else than a nervous tic.

"Before we do this, if you still wanna do it of course, you should know something." 

He dries his hands on his black work pants and Louis nods at him, signalling him to go on with what he has to say. "When I was younger, my-- my first boyfriend, he.. Fuck," he furrows his eyebrows, smooths the wrinkles on his forehead with his fingers, then pinches the bridge of his nose hard to keep himself focused, "It wasn't really consensual on my side, is what I'm trying to say, so after that-- episode, I swore to myself I wouldn't bottom again," he shivers as he speaks, the memory making him feel dirty, "but I trust you and I want to do it, I've thought of this thoroughly, so.. yeah. Just-- I might be really tense or wanting to stop every three seconds or maybe change my mind mid-thing, so.. Don't get mad, like, if it happens, alright?"

"Haz," Louis' voice is soft and sweet as he cups Harry's face with his hand, "it's okay. I'm glad you trust me with a delicate matter like this one, and I promise I'll do everything in my power to make it as enjoyable as possible for the both of us. You have every right to be scared after what happened to you, and it's not my place to get upset if you end up not wanting to go through with it."

"Yeah-- okay. Just-- can you come to my place, like, after work? I'd be more comfortable in my own bed instead of here, you know?" 

"Sure thing, petal, we can do it however and wherever you want."

 

During the rest of the day, none of them can focus on their work, the air charged with anticipation every time they brush past each other, sparks flying when they accidentally touch, goosebumps erupting all over them at the thought of what's to come.

When they ride the elevator down together, Louis carefully puts a stray piece of hair behind Harry's ear, whispering "you alright?" like he's telling the most precious secret, even though they're alone and there's no reason to lower his voice.

"Yeah, I-- _ yeah _ ."

They watch the buttons light up every time they ride past a floor, standing close even though there's plenty of free room, Harry's head resting on Louis' shoulder in a gesture that's new but feels right all the same.

They ride in different cars because it's easier like that, then climb the stairs leading to Harry's flat in comfortable silence, Louis' hand resting on the small of Harry's back the whole time, comforting, firm.

When they're inside, face to face, they smile lightly, standing in each other's space, breathing each other in like they're trying to learn everything all over again. And they are, in a way.

This is nothing like what they've done in the past, has nothing to do with quick fucks and stolen orgasms and dirty words whispered in each other's skin, this is about trust, a new kind of intimacy that none of them has had in a long time, something they didn't think they'd end up giving to each other.

Harry is visibly tense, shoulders hunched and hands clenched by his sides, but there's something in his eyes that screams _ 'I trust you'  _ as he looks at Louis, gaze never faltering as he attempts a smile.

"Hey," Louis is on him soon enough, cupping his face, caressing his skin, petting his hair with a tenderness he didn't know he had, eyes soft and reassuring smile never leaving his face, "still okay?"

"Yeah, just-" Harry takes a shaky breath, "just nervous, you know?"

"It's okay, you're okay. Gonna take care of you."

"I know. Just-- slow, please."

"You set the pace here, not me. You're in charge of whatever happens, yeah?"

"Yes. Okay."

Suddenly Louis can feel lips on his cheek, leaving a wet, reverent kiss on the light stubble growing there, lingering for a few seconds and sending shivers running through his body.

"Let's go to the bedroom, Lou."

Harry slips his hand in Louis' to drag him in the right direction and it feels effortless, familiar, like they've done it a hundred times before even though they certainly have not, sending shivers down their bodies because this is as intimate as it gets, fingers brushing timidly against each other and skin prickling with something none of them can pinpoint but feels good all the same.

When they get in the room they breathe each other in, taking a moment to drink in the sight in front of them before they're on each other again, pulling clothes off and throwing them around the room with all the calm in the world, like there are no deadlines and things to do and time is only an illusion, like there's only them and the warmth of their naked skin as the layers of clothes get removed, the world around them long forgotten, muted and grey outside of their bubble.

"Want you, Lou."

Harry's voice is barely a whisper but it's all they need right now as they stand so close they're almost one, hands intertwined 'cause somehow their fingers found each other again after the last piece of fabric had fallen to the ground.

"I'm here, gonna take care of you."

Harry rummages through his drawers to find lube and condoms, placing them on the beside table with shaky hands. When he raises his head, Louis is smiling at him, wide and sweet and bright so Harry moves closer, kissing his jaw and neck and collarbones before pulling him towards the bed, whispering "make me feel good, Lou," against his damp skin before laying on top of the covers, spread out like a starfish, hair wild around his head like a crown and flushed, hard cock resting on his belly. 

Louis kneels between his spread legs, looks at him like he's a work of art and can't keep his thoughts to himself, "so beautiful, Harry, so perfect."

He kisses all the skin he can reach, taking his sweet time on each spot as he sucks bruises and soothes them with his tongue afterwards just to do it again, making Harry squirm and moan under him, looking so fucked out already even though nothing consistent has happened yet.

"Lou," he's whining, thrashing his head from side to side as Louis works yet another bruise on his inner thigh, painfully close to where he wants him the most but miles away at the same time.

"Lou, please, _ please _ ."

"What do you need, love?"

Harry's brain is not working properly, coherent thought flown out of the window the moment Louis laid his lips on his skin, so he just settles for a broken moan and a whispered "anything, Lou," before fisting his hands in the sheets to try and ground himself.

"Fold your legs, hold your knees to your chest, spread 'em wide. Can you do that, sweets? For me? Wanna see all of you."

Harry nods jerkily, body stiff and lax at the same time like his nerve endings are going into overdrive and can't send the right signals anymore; he assumes the position he's been suggested almost in slow motion but he gets there eventually, spread out and exposed and  _ naked _ in every sense of the way, giving his trust to someone for the first time after ages.

"Gorgeous, gorgeous boy. You're doing so good."

Louis kisses the head of Harry's hard dick wetly but it only lasts a second, stopping in favour of leaving a messy trail of kisses down the whole length and then lower, and lower, and lower. When he licks the first stripe over Harry's hole, the boy beneath him shakes, moaning loudly, hands flying to his own hair and yanking in frustration like he can't believe it feels this good.

Harry tastes salty and musky, like sweat and soap and  _ Harry _ and it's addictive, making Louis' head spin and his cock twitch, impossibly hard between his thighs. 

Louis gives everything he has, alternating fast and slow, sucking at the rim before blowing air on it, then starts all over again. Harry thinks he's gonna die if Louis keeps that up, feeling hot all over like lava is crawling in his veins, muscles clenching and flexing on their own accord because he doesn't have control over anything anymore, voice broken and endless streams of moans and curses falling from his lips like a sinful mantra, a beautiful, obscene poem of pleasure. 

"C-close, fuck, Lou."

Louis sucks on his rim one last time before pulling his mouth away, smirking, "can't have you come yet, baby," he almost chokes as the nicknames flies past his lips but Harry doesn't seem to mind, moaning as soon as the word reaches his ears, "gonna open you up with my fingers now, get you ready for me. Alright? You still okay with that?" 

"Y-yeah, yes, yes." Harry swallows past the lump in his throat, nerves threatening to fucking this all up, "Just- slow, alright? I'm not-- not used to this."

"Don't worry," Harry feels a kiss on each of the tattoos inked on his hips, and the sensation shoots goosebumps all over his skin, "gonna take all the time you need. You say the word and I'll slow down, or stop altogether if that's what you want. Want this to be good for you."

Louis slicks his fingers with a generous amount of lube, then slips the first inside slow, a millimetre at a time, stopping every time Harry makes any noise of discomfort, rubbing the other hand over any skin he can reach, fingertips tracing soothing patterns on it. He's reverent in his gestures, caring, whispering sweetness in his skin in a slow, careful prayer, "taking my finger so good, love, _ so good _ ." 

The second finger takes even longer because Harry is not used to the stretch, so Louis kisses all over his thighs to keep his mind off things, soft and reverent in a way that makes Harry shiver and feel kind of warm inside his chest, blush creeping high on his cheeks. Once Harry stopped being tense, the third goes in fairly smooth, and Louis starts aiming for his prostate while he stretches him, just to feel him clench around his fingers, muscles flexing with every jolt of pleasure that shoots through his body, back arching from the mattress and hips grinding on Louis' fingers while pleads for 'more, more, please' fall from his lips. 

"You feel amazing on my fingers. Such a gorgeous, perfect boy."

Harry didn't know he had some sort of a praise kink, but every compliment falling from Louis' lips makes him feel all kinds of weird and fuzzy in the best possible way, dick twitching and heart doing backflips in his chest while something that feels a lot like a swarm of butterflies dances around in his stomach.

Louis is not doing much better, clouded from lust and arousal and awe for the gorgeous creature he's taking care of; Harry is  _ everywhere _ , under him and around him and in his head: he can feel him, hear him, smell him and taste him, it's an all encompassing feeling that is messing with Louis' brain in ways he didn't think possible. 

Louis puts on a condom and puts more lube on him just to be sure, then pushes into him slowly, reveling in the feeling of tight warmth around his cock, sliding a bit at a time to give Harry time to adjust and Harry loves it, arches his back and rocks his hips down to get more into himself and Louis wants to kiss him so bad, wants to throw away the stupid rule he's set for himself and smash their lips together, taste Harry's breath and feel his tongue running in his mouth until he's dizzy from it; he wants it so much he's hurting with it as he rocks his hips into Harry's body, mattress squeaking under their movement and bedpost hitting the wall with every thrust, wants to feel  _ whole _ for the few minutes it takes for them to detach their mouths to come up for air. But Harry is young and wild and bright, he's  _ free, _ and Louis would only be the chain that holds him back, tying him down, preventing him from achieving the great things that are probably littered all over his future. 

So he doesn't kiss him, fights the urge with all the strength he has even though every fiber of his being, every cell in his body is suffering from it. He settles on whispering sweet nothings in his ear instead, calling him perfect and gorgeous as they both climax a few seconds from each other, petting his hair as he comes down from his high with hooded eyes and smile stretched over those beautiful features, green eyes twinkling.

There's a dull ache in the middle of Louis' chest when they're done, even worse when Harry snuggles against him and nuzzles his neck, because Louis knows this is only happening because Harry is still lost in his post orgasmic haze, that the moment they're cleaned up and he's out the door, this blissful moment will be lost forever.

He detaches Harry from his body then, stands up and refuses to look at him even when he hears him ask "where are you going?", too scared he'll end up feeling things he doesn't want to feel.

"Bathroom. Gonna clean us up."

"Second door to the left."

The words feel heavy in the silence of the room, like an omen looming over them, dark clouds filling the previously clear sky.

Louis paddles out of the room still stark naked, finds the bathroom without problems and spends way too much time staring at his reflection in the mirror, not wanting to go back to the room and put an end to things yet. He sees bruises blossoming on him, purple stains all over his neck where Harry bit to keep quiet as Louis fucked into him over and over; he traces them with the pads of his fingers, closes his eyes to imprint in his mind every expression of Harry's face as he reached his pleasure, every noise spilling from his bitten lips, every twitch and quiver of his muscles.

 

When he goes back to the room Harry is still sprawled on the bed looking like the embodiment of a sex god, skin still flushed and sweaty and lips slightly parted as he stares at the ceiling.

Louis cleans him up in silence with a wet towel he took from the bathroom, removing all the traces of come and spit from all over his body thoroughly, before doing the same to himself.

"You leaving now?"

Harry's voice startles him a bit, taking him back to reality, and it hurts like a punch in the face. 

He has no reason to stay, unless Harry wants to go for a second round: sex is all they have, the only thing they share. They don't sleep over, don't cuddle, don't get to see each other first thing in the morning, all soft and rumpled from sleep as the orange shadows of the sunrise graze over their skin. It's not what they're about.

_ This shouldn't be as painful as it is _ . 

"I-- yeah."

"Oh. Okay."

Louis swears he sees Harry's face fall but he's probably just imagining things, his stupidly hopeful heart playing tricks on his brain.

He collects his clothes in silence, puts them on as fast as he can even though he feels like everything is moving in slow motion, Harry's emerald eyes digging holes in his back as he stares. He doesn't want to turn around, doesn't want to see Harry's face because he's scared of what he may find there, so he stares intently at the wall instead: there are photos, and Harry is smiling in all of them, dimples popping and teeth showing and he's a vision, bright and confident like a sunbeam, _ happy _ as he hangs out with family and friends and people who are not Louis, and never will be. 

"See you tomorrow at work, Harry."

"I-- okay. See you, Lou."

When he's down the stairs and in the lobby, he feels like everything's spinning, like the ground beneath his feet has become jelly and doesn't keep him upright anymore, so he braces his arms on the wall, rests his head on the fancy paintings decorating it and waits for this unsettling, nauseous feeling to stop. 

Except it doesn't. 

He's scared he's gonna feel sick, end up puking on the expensive carpet and make a fool of himself, so he puts a hand on his mouth, closes his eyes to try and focus on something else and his thoughts go to Harry before he can stop them: there's no going back to how he felt before now that he's watched him come undone under him, clawing at his back in pleasure as he painted himself white, eyes scrunched shut as he crumbled and melted in the mattress right before Louis' eyes.

He's never gonna be able to look at him the same without replaying the scene in his head, without the cognition of how stupid he was to even think this was a good idea, because everything that will happen between them will never compare to this night, to the intimacy of their fingers intertwined and their breaths mixing into one.

°°°

He just takes, takes, takes, then.

Takes all Harry has to give and pretends it's enough: all the moans and the lovebites and the orgasms, all the pleasure and and the stolen glances from across the glass wall, all the pain that comes when one of them leaves the room after they get dressed and go on with their day as if that night never happened.

He gives, too. 

Gives him kisses on the jawline and cheeks because he can't have his lips, gives him sweet words and pet names whispered in his skin when he thinks he can't hear, gives him all he asks because he can't help himself, even if every single thing hurts as much as the previous one, if not more. 

He doesn't understand why he's feeling like this, why, after all the hate and the bickering and the angry sex to shut him up, a night is enough to change everything.

It's stupid and pointless and doesn't make sense, makes him feel on edge and unsettled and angry at himself because this is not how things are supposed to go, not after he swore himself that he wouldn't get in a shitty situation like this one ever again.

But he takes and gives anyway, and goes on with this thing he doesn't want but can't stop craving, tries to drown his thoughts with fancy wine and too many cigarettes and plasters a smile on his face every morning so he can go back to this vicious circle again, pretending he's not feeling like shit when he goes home after having yet another round of quick sex that doesn't quench his thirst for  _ more _ .

"Hey," he gets in Harry's office without knocking, takes in his surroundings because something feels  _ different _ , looks around himself before walking to the desk. It takes him a few seconds of intense concentration to realise something is missing, and he smiles a little to himself as he rests his hip against the wood, "you got rid of that horrible stapler!"

Harry doesn't speak, just looks at him intently, like he can't find the right words to reply to such a simple statement.

"It was about time you took my advice, that thing was _ hideous. _ "

And then he looks more, and more, and notices that the stapler is not the only thing missing from the desk: the photos are gone, and so are the colourful post-its that littered every surface, and the rainbow pencil Harry uses as a good luck charm. Every single thing they knocked over when their encounters were a little too rough, every piece of paper that fell to the ground when one of them looked for something to hold onto,  _ gone _ .

"Harry? What's happening?"

Harry just stares, lips parted and eyes clouded, hands resting on the desk that seems so unbelievably  _ bare _ right now, deprived of all the quirky little things that used to annoy Louis, but that somehow he holds close to his heart. 

Louis lowers his eyes after a couple of beats, head feeling numb and throat feeling instantly clogged, like there's a fire somewhere and smoke is slowly, subtly filling the room. 

"Where is your stuff, Harry? What's going on?"

"I'm leaving, Lou."

He says it like it's the most natural thing in the world, like it's easy for him to just take all his stuff and go, like all the things he's leaving behind don't matter. 

It hurts like a punch in the gut, like all the air has suddenly left Louis' lungs, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water. 

His heart beats fast in his ribcage, and everything is so silent for a few seconds that he can almost hear the  _ thump thump thump _ of his blood pumping through his veins, keeping him alive and going even though he feels like he can barely breathe. 

"Why?"

"I knew there was a place available in Manchester, so I applied. My mom lives nearby, and there's literally nothing keeping me here, so-" 

Louis wants to scream, yell at him to just stay, refuse the position and cancel the train to Manchester and fucking stay here  _ with him _ . 

Wants to tell him that he can't just up and leave without even saying a thing, leaving him behind like what they shared was some kind of disposable toy that can be thrown away once you get bored. That he can't just be able to  _ move on _ like it never fucking happened while Louis stays here and feels his bones shatter inside his body. 

He murmurs a barely audible "okay," instead, lifts himself off the desk and leaves without another word, calling himself a coward in his head for not having the courage and strength to do something about it.

He stays quiet as he watches Harry put the last things away from across the glass wall, collecting his stuff and all his  memories regarding this place and fitting them in a box that is surely not big enough to contain all their past.

He stays quiet as Harry comes to his office to say his last goodbye, watching him with wide eyes like he is expecting him to say something, lingering on the door as if he's waiting for a sign.

He stays quiet as Harry sighs, defeated, and leaves with slow, calculated steps, back tense and box held in his hands so tight his knuckles are white.

He stays quiet as he rides the elevator down to the parking lot, rain drenching him to the bone as he walks to his car, drops pattering down on the windows as he drives.

He stays quiet.

_ Because what's left to say, when he couldn't even find the guts to get him to stay? _

°°°

  
  


°°°

  
  


** EPILOGUE **

**_ (68 days later.) _ **

 

"I can't disclose personal information, I'm sorry."

"You already said that. But you know what," he squints to see what's written on the name tag attached to the girl's breast pocket, " _ Linda _ ? This is a very important matter. You see, after a recent turn of events -namely, this person fucking off on the whole other side of the country- I've come to the conclusion that I'm harboring.. Feelings, for them. And I kind of want to tell them. So if you could kindly tell me where Mr Styles' office is, that would be highly appreciated."

The receptionist -Linda- gives him a once over, still seeming unsure of what to do, but her eyes have softened considerably compared to the previous ten times he'd asked the exact same thing, so he figures he's on the right path.

"Please? In the name-" he stutters a bit mid sentence, because as much as the l-word has been on his mind more often than not, he still hasn't said it out loud, "in the name of _ love _ ?"

"Third floor, that's all I can tell you. After that, you'll have to figure it out on your own."

Louis doesn't even let her finish the sentence before he's thanking her and bolting to the nearest elevator, pushing the button repeatedly as if it would make it move faster. When the doors open in front of him, he hears Linda's voice shouting 'good luck!' from the front desk, and the smile in his voice is pretty evident even from afar.

When he gets on the third floor, he only has to ask five people before being able to locate Harry's office (and only has to say  _ 'please, it's a life or death situation!' _ twice for the last person to give in). He knocks when he gets there and it feels weird, foreign to some extent, because as strange as the relationship -'arrangement', his brain corrects- with Harry was, they always had free access to the other's office.

The voice on the other side of the door is low and velvety, like melted honey and cinnamon making their way through Louis' ears through the thick wood separating them.

"Louis."

Harry looks taken aback when he sees him, tense with the weight of the words he wants to say, the questions he wants to ask. 

"Harry-"

Of all the things that have ever happened to Louis William Tomlinson, being at a loss for words was never one of them. But Harry is the exception, he's always been the exception, somehow, from that very first day they both were hired and he thought that a black blouse with pink flamingos was an appropriate clothing choice for an office job.

"What are you doing here?"

"I-- I'm not quite sure, to be fair."

"Are those-" Harry's breath catches in his throat as he looks at the flowers in Louis' hand, a huge stain of bright pink contrasting beautifully with the dark skin of the person who's holding them. 

"Peonies? Yeah."

"They're my favourite."

His voice is soft, almost in awe, and Louis kind of thinks he wants to hear that sound for the rest of his days on earth. 

"I didn't know what flowers you liked and-- I clearly remember you hanging a painting of these in your office the day you moved in and- the guy they hired when you left, Aaron is his name, wanted it gone so I - I took it. It's actually been hanging in my office this whole time, and I took a pic to show the florist cause I don't know shit about flowers, but I knew I wanted to bring you these because they're linked to the very first memory I have of you, so-- yeah."

Harry's eyes are wide in shock by the time Louis is done with his little speech, irises so green they almost look fake and he's  _ breathtaking _ as he stands with his mouth hanging open, flicking his gaze from Louis to the peonies and back again repeatedly.

"I-- don't know what to say."

"I don't know what I want you to say, to be honest, so it's fine, I guess."

There's a moment of awkward, heavy silence, and the roar of the cars several floors beneath them is the only thing filling the air as they stare at each other, drinking in the sight in front of them.

It's only been a little more than two months since they last saw each other (68 days, Louis' brain supplies, and he internally curses himself -for keeping count or for waiting that long to do something about it, he doesn't really know) but it feels like a lifetime: a lot can change in the span of two months,  _ has changed _ , in their case, because Louis is pretty sure he isn't the same person he was when Harry left the office all those days ago, and most definitely is the same for Harry, too.

There's so much he wants to say but he's scared, terrified even, and well, that's a first. But he spent several hours on a train and bought the biggest bouquet of peonies available even though he never bought flowers for anyone in his life -not even his mom- and he tried to bribe like ten different people just to be here in this very moment so he might as well speak, might as well take his chances and hope this goes like he wants, and if it doesn't, at least he won't live his life with doubts and  _ what if' _ s eating away at his soul.

"So, the flowers and.. The whole me being here thing might be weird to you so-- so I guess I'll explain." 

He takes a shaky breath, then another, tries to calm his nerves and steady his heartbeat but they won't budge, so he just speaks. 

"Mind you, I've never done this thing before and this will probably come out all wrong but-- I'm trying, yeah?" he stops for a second to give himself a self deprecating smile, then keeps going; "the first time you bottomed, at your house, I was feeling all sorts of things. I was scared and turned on and I had those--those butterflies in my belly every time you looked at me with trust in your eyes but-- I thought I couldn't have you. Thought it would be better to just leave things how they were, and I managed for a while, put this thing at the back of my brain and tried not dwelling on it, tried talking myself into thinking it was just a momentary thing. But then-- when you told me were leaving, I was upset. Felt like there was a huge void in my chest and-- and--I was proper scared when I realised, I'm telling you, but I kind of convinced myself that it was because I was accustomed to our  _ routine _ , or something like that."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, hard, trying to make sense of the mess in his head, to form coherent sentences despite the fog clouding everything. 

"And then I went into work the next day and this-- this Aaron guy was there, bringing boxes of his stuff to your office and I just went ' _ no, this isn't happening' _ ".

His hands are shaking and sweating so he just puts the bouquet on a table nearby and dries them as best as he can on his pants, not daring to look up because he knows if he does he'll end up a proper mess, and that won't do.

Harry is silent, too silent, his left hand playing with a ring on the right one, eyes never leaving Louis' form as he speaks.

"I hated him when he first came to work because-- I didn't know why. Or, like, I didn't realise until a couple of weeks later. But, anyway, I thought I was fine, that I'll fall into another sort of routine that didn't involve making you mad or making you come, and everything would go back into place. Except-- it didn't. I got really upset when Aaron wanted to throw away the painting, saying that it was ugly and I used to think so too, at first, but it was all wrong coming out of his mouth, because-- that thing, it reminded me of you, trying to hang it while stood on a chair with that fucking shirt with the flamingos on it and-- fuck," he feels the tears he's coerced himself not to shed these months coming back up with renewed force and he has to stop talking for a second, remember how to breathe -in, out, in, out, nice and steady- in order to continue, "I almost  _ punched _ him, Harry. Went this close to bashing his face in just because of that stupid thing. But then I--  realised it wouldn't have done any good, so I decided to take the painting from the wall and take it with me instead. It's right above the door to my office, in front of my desk and it-- it kinda served as a wake up call. I spent hours,  _ days _ , staring at that fucking painting, getting frustrated because I wanted answers and solutions that didn't come and then boom, I realised I hated the guy because he wasn't you. Simple as that."

"Louis, if this is a joke I-"

"No!" it comes out rushed and high pitched, "no it's not. Just- let me get this out, yeah? And then you talk?"

Harry just gives a nod.

"Where was I? Ah, yeah, the  _ epiphany _ . So I spent like a week holed inside my house -even called in sick at work so I could mope around better, cursing myself every chance I got because I didn't really know how to face these-- these things I was feeling. And then one night I decided I had enough: called my best mate, organised a night out, got proper drunk and-- I don't really remember this, but he told me I talked about you the whole time. I denied it, of course, but when I went home I was rummaging through my clothes looking for clean socks and I found the panties I wore the-- the first time we had proper sex, the light blue ones. Stared at them for maybe ten minutes before my brain just kind of went _ 'shit, I miss him' _ .    
And then it suddenly made sense, the stuff I was feeling when we were at your place and I couldn't put a name on. Took me another week or so to be able to say it out loud, then a bit more time to get my head out of my ass and decide to do something about it."

His mouth is dry but he's not done yet, so he tries to swallow as best as he can and keeps going, keeps baring his heart to someone who's probably gonna crush it in the next few minutes but it doesn't matter because this is Harry; lovely, perfect, beautiful Harry, so even if Louis gets out of this damn fancy office in pieces, it's still gonna be worth it somehow. 

"I kept thinking of the day you were cleaning your desk, before you left to come here, when you told me you had nothing to keep you in London, and I thought-- it's a long shot, but I thought that maybe I could be that? I had to try, at least, so I booked the first train on my free day and came here, with flowers I wasn't sure you liked and a prepared speech that fucked off from my brain the moment I saw you, begging people for information -bless Linda at the reception, poor girl had to bear with my annoying ass for like an hour, but then I told her why I was here, that I wanted to try and win you back because I'm in love with you, and she gav-"

"You are-- _ in love _ with me?"

"Yeah. She's actually the first person I said it out loud to, even though I kind of said it a lot in my head, after I realised. But anyway, yes, I am. Very much in love with you and your stupid face and hippy paintings and embarrassing clothing choices. And your smile. Did you know I have a favourite smile you do? I call it the  _ child smile _ , and I saw it just once, when Sarah from human resources took her daughter to work and you saw her and you-- you just smiled, bright and open and beautiful and you looked like the sun, and I still thought I hated you back then but still I found it spectacular, so- yeah, that one."

Harry is speechless, brain overheating as it tries to process all the informations, mouth agape and eyes wide and wet because it's a lot, it's too much and he can't speak, can't move, can't breathe.

Louis, on the other hand, has so many other words he wants to say. Wants to ramble about all the things he loves about Harry, from the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs to the way his breathing gets uneven when he's about to come, could talk for ages, really.

"I'm gonna come over there now. I'm gonna kiss you, and I'm gonna  _ mean _ it, and if you push me away I'm gonna leave you alone and never try to reach you again. Okay?"

He doesn't answer but Louis gets close anyway, closing the distance with slow, tentative steps to give Harry the time to back out but he doesn't, he just looks at him with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights, hair framing his face in wild waves and hands clasped in front of him, mouth slightly open in surprise and shock.

They're face to face now, breaths mashed together in front of them, sweet and sour scents dancing in the air and none of them moves to close that final millimetre of distance between their lips. 

Everything is silent for a moment, _ quiet _ , the calm before the storm, the moment of pure clarity before the rain comes crashing down, destroying everything on its path. 

"If you-- if you want to back out, now it's the last chance."

Louis' voice is barely a whisper, his eyes full of hope as he waits a second, and then another, before  _ finally _ touching Harry's lips with his.

It's not like in the movies: no fireworks or butterflies or otherworldly experiences, time doesn't freeze around them and the world doesn't stop for the time they kiss. It's just two people exploring each other's mouths, learning for the first time what they taste and feel like, hands trembling on their sides because they want to caress and hold and  _ feel _ , but too scared that if they touch, everything might be ruined.

It's not tongues battling for dominance, just awed, worshipful lips sealed against each other.

"You-- you let me kiss you."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Why do you think, Lou?"

The nickname falls easily from his mouth, like he's been repeating it over and over in his head for the past two months, in order to be prepared to say it this very moment.

"I think I've been in love with you all along. There was something-- unhealthy in the way I seemed to  _ crave _ your attention, even when it came in the form of you teasing me and driving me mad. I thought I hated you, Jesus, I had myself so convinced in the beginning, but-- then we started messing around and the more it happened, the more I realised it was a facade all along. Your mean words became the highlight of my days, and your hands on my skin made me discover things about myself that I didn't know I had."

He's smiling against Louis' mouth, words tumbling out of him fast and unstoppable, "There was no big revealing moment, it just sort of.. happened. I wanted you in ways I've never wanted anyone. I felt it  _ everywhere _ , from my head to my chest to my toes, in the tips of my fingers whenever they were on your skin, in my stomach when you gave me a smile. And I've spent so long hoping you'd feel the same, that you'd finally see me like I saw you."

His voice breaks a bit but he's quick to recover, "But you-- you never did. You  _ came _ and left every time, and I was so addicted to your presence that I forced myself into believing I was alright with it, even though I ended up going home and crying about it, hating myself because I thought it was my fault if you only saw me as a warm mouth to get you off."

Louis cups Harry's face in his hand as he listens to him bare his soul, voicing all the pain he felt and he wants to scream, guilt and sadness clawing at his skin for making this beautiful man in front of him feel like he didn't deserve all the good things in this world. 

"So when the opportunity to come here presented itself I knew I had to try. I-- had to put space between us because I was only hurting myself over you.

I knew it was the right thing to do, but still, when I was cleaning my desk and everything was said and done, I still hoped you'd stop me. But you didn't and I left, settled here. I made friends and met people and I was fine, I  _ am _ fine, but at the end of the day, when I went home and I was alone, it was still you I thought about. And now you come here and you-- you want me. Of all people, you want _ me. _  And I believe you. And so I let you kiss me."

Louis smiles, big and bright and beautiful because _ this is happening _ . 

He feels warm all inside his chest, stomach upside down with butterflies, and he almost tears up when he raises his gaze and sees that Harry is smiling equally as bright. 

All the shit that's gone wrong between them, all the times he's played safe and lost, all the times he thought it was too late don't matter now, because Harry wants him back,  _ loves _ him back.

He just kisses him again and again then, just because he can, revelling in the feeling of  _ freedom _ that comes with it: there's nothing stopping him now, no doubts holding him back, no fears restraining him; he can savour Harry anytime he wants, explore his mouth with his tongue and let him do the same, get lost in the taste of their breaths mixing into one.

It tastes a lot like  _ happiness _ . 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are highly appreciated, I’d love to know your opinion on this!


End file.
